"That's the bath."
"Okay."
She does not move.
I do not move.
We are looking at each other.
Her right hand comes up out of the water. Slow. Wet. She reaches for my left forearm, where it is along the tub rim. She takes my wrist in her fingers and she turns it so the scar is up.
She runs her fingertips along the ridge of it.
I feel it in the back of my neck.
"Warehouse collapse. 2019”
"What came down on you."
"A beam."
"Was anybody with you."
"Dani pulled me out."
"Dani?”
"My friend. Dani Serrano, lead firefighter.”
"Tell me about it sometime if you feel able to.”
"Sometime, I will.”
Her fingertips keep moving along the scar. She follows it up to the inside of the elbow, to where it stops. She turns my arm back over so the ridge is down. She holds my wrist a count.
She looks up at me.
"Max."
"Yes."
"I have never had sex with a woman."
"I figured you probably hadn’t.”
"I'd like to."
I feel the whole room go still.
"With me?” I say. I say it to be sure. I say it because I am a woman who asks plain questions at the door of a room she does not yet have the key to.
"With you," she says. "Yes. With you."
I let her wrist stay on mine.
"When?” I say.
"Tonight. I haven’t stopped thinking about what it might be like to have sex with you.”
